Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

The plain casket is then transported to the graabhof. Family members and friends follow in what is usually a long line of buggies. Most funerals garner so much in the way of buggy traffic that I sometimes dispatch an officer to deter any disputes between the slow-moving buggies and impatient drivers.

There was no funeral service for Joseph King this morning. As I make the final turn onto Jug Street, I pass only three buggies and a lone couple walking alongside the road, and I realize with a deep sense of sadness that, in light of recent events, few have turned out to mourn him.

I pull onto the narrow gravel shoulder and park behind a buggy. A few yards away, half a dozen men and women clad in black stand among the neat rows of pale headstones. Next to them, the wagon containing the casket lies in wait. More than likely the grave was dug by hand last night or early this morning—well before the mourners arrived—by two or three young Amish men.

I leave the Explorer and walk through the gate. Curious eyes descend upon me as I approach the group. There are no children present, just three couples and a group of men who are probably the pallbearers. I’m midway to the gravesite when the sound of tires on gravel draws my attention. I turn to see a silver Toyota pull up behind my Explorer. A bittersweet pang sweeps through me when Jonas King and his partner, Logan, get out and start toward me.

I stop and wait for them, extending my hand to both of them when they reach me. “I’m sorry about Joseph,” I tell him.

“Thank you, Katie. And thank you for coming. I’m still trying to process it.” Jonas blows out a breath and I realize he’s quite upset. “I knew something like this could happen. I just…” He lets the words trail as if not sure how to finish the sentence. “I still can’t believe it. I mean, Joe was always such a fixture in my life. Even while he was in prison. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

I nod, understanding that unexpected punch of grief, of disbelief, all too well. “Does Edward know?”

He nods. “I told him but … He’s not coming.”

“How did you find out?” I ask.

“Sheriff sent a couple of deputies out to the house right after it happened.” He looks at me. “Were you there?”

I nod and for an instant, I’m back at the Beachy farmhouse with Joseph and the kids, and I can’t meet his gaze.

“I saw the photo,” he says.

“Jonas, I’m sorry—”

He notices my reaction and chokes out a laugh. “It’s okay,” he says easily. “Joe was.… a rascal.” He hefts another laugh, but it comes out with a sob. “He never said it, never said anything, but I think he was always a little bit in love with you.”

Feeling more than is prudent, I wait a beat, and then change the subject. “I saw your nieces and nephews last night.”

He flashes a smile at Logan. “We’re heading that way next. How are they doing?”

“Good. Rebecca and Daniel are taking good care of them and getting them back into a normal routine.”

“They were there, too, that night, weren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Poor kids.” Jonas brings his head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose, but quickly regains his composure. “The thing is, those kids have already been away from their datt for two years. Sad as it is, it’ll probably make their adjustment easier.”

It’s true, but we both know their scars will run deep.

“Jonas, I know this isn’t a good time to talk, but I want you to know I went to see Salome Fisher.”

His gaze jerks to mine. “You did? What did she say?”

I take him through my visit with her. “She doesn’t believe Joseph was physically abusive to Naomi.”

“I thought that would be the case.” He shakes his head. “But if that’s the truth, why didn’t she speak up? I mean, during trial?”

“I was left with the impression that the bishop thought it might a good lesson for Joseph to spend some time in jail.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “You know, Katie, those two domestic-violence charges played a big role during the murder trial. The prosecutor hammered it home every chance he got.” He shakes his head. “I just don’t see how Joe was convicted.”

“The one thing I can tell you is that domestic violence doesn’t always mean someone got punched,” I explain. “According to Ohio code, if you put your hands on someone, you’re probably going to jail. There are gray areas. Cops make judgment calls.”

Sighing, he looks past me at the group of Amish that have congregated around the gravesite. “I don’t believe he put his hands on her. My brothers and I weren’t raised that way.”

An awkward silence descends. I can tell by the way Jonas is fidgeting, not meeting my gaze, that he’s got more to say, but he’s debating whether he should.

“If you’ve got something to tell me, I think now would be a good time,” I say.

Jonas tightens his lips, but says nothing.

Beside him, Logan sets his hand on Jonas’s arm. “This has been eating you alive for two years. This is your chance. Tell her.”

Jonas takes a deep breath, like a free diver about to descend into the depths, and then the words start to pour out. “I don’t know how or why, but I think Joseph was railroaded. I think the meth was planted. I think the domestic-violence charges were … exaggerated.”

“By who?”

“I don’t know. But I knew Joe. He did not do meth. If you knew him … Katie, that’s just crazy.”

“Look, when someone has a problem—with drugs or alcohol or whatever—sometimes loved ones are the last to know. Some people are good at keeping secrets. They’re able to function even when their life is spiraling out of control.”

“He didn’t have a drug problem,” Jonas says testily.

I don’t respond.

“And who called the cops the times when Joseph and Naomi were supposedly arguing?” he asks. “They didn’t have a phone. They lived too far away for the neighbors to overhear them, if, indeed, they were arguing. How did the cops know to show up?”

I stare at him, silently acknowledging that the question has been bothering me as well. “I thought of that.”

“I can tell by the look on your face.”

I take a moment, look past him at the group of mourners. I wonder how many of them knew Joseph. How many of them are here simply because he was Amish and they are bound by duty.

I turn my attention back to Jonas. “Did Joseph have any enemies that you know of?”

“Pissing people off was one of his specialties.”

“Can you be more specific?” Now it’s my turn to get testy.

He gives me a tired smile. “He’d ticked off a few people in his day, but nothing serious that I recall.” He thinks about it for a moment. “The only people who hated Joseph were the cops.”

“What about Naomi? Did she have any enemies?”

He laughs at the notion. “God no. The woman was a saint.”

Movement where the graveside service is about to be held draws my attention. I glance over to see four young Amish men removing the casket from the wagon with two long poles.

“We’d best get over there,” Logan says.

The two men start toward the gravesite.

“Jonas?” I call out.

He turns and raises his brows.

“I’m going to talk to the detective who handled the murder investigation.”